where the boats go
by sheriff stilinski
Summary: Don't save us from the flames. SpikeLynda


Title: where the boats go

Summary: Don't save us from the flames. SpikeLynda

Author's Note: Both the title and the summary are titles of incredible songs by M83.

Also, on a side note, I've never really been sure if Lynda was alive or dead. It's a big question of mine. I was going to address it, but it's too hard to choose, so make your own inferences buckos.

/

_7:30 AM_

Ash on the pillow case.

He coughs – once, twice, three times. His arm reaches out for her and he gets worried when he doesn't feel her next to him but then –

"Spike," she says lowly.

She's standing at the end of the bed. Her eyes are dark, lips quirked in an uncharacteristically happy smile – one of those ones she saved for photographs or times when he'd kiss her all over and she would laugh like a little school girl. She's wearing his leather jacket and her shortest skirt. It's burnt at the hem – few centimeters shorter than usual, he laughs.

"What's the special occasion, boss? Finally going to kill me?"

She rolls her eyes, "I was just thinking of replacing you with a cuter American. One who can write."

"Will he wear sunglasses indoors?"

She approaches the bed, thinks for a moment, "I hope not."

He grins, sits up, frowns, "Hey, boss. Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be, Thompson? I've been subjected to your sloppy lip work before."

"No, seriously. Lynda, are you okay?"

She waves him off, "Your kissing isn't _that_ bad."

She goes to move, but he grabs her, holds her still, looks her in the eyes, "Be serious, please. I was worried. So damn worried."

"Damn! Magazine," she says softly, laughs. It looks like it hurts her.

"Lynda!" Spike says, searching her eyes. They're still dark and there's ash on his pillow case and he's nervous and so afraid – still.

"I'm fine, Spike," she insists. "I'm not leaving, remember? It's your choice."

He laughs, "Boss, I never have a choice with you."

Her eyes are still dark when she laughs. It's strange sounding, kind of choked up and polite all at once.

At his worry, she deadpans, "An American with a better sense of humor."

She bites her lip, smiles faintly. He moves to kiss her, but instead, pats the space next to him.

"Come to bed," he insists.

For once, she complies.

/

_5:20 PM_

"Boss, when are we going back to work?"

It takes her a while to open her eyes. They've stayed in bed all day for possibly the first time in Lynda's whole life, and although she's slept soundly, he can't help but watch her. Whenever he takes his eyes off her, he still sees her like how she first appeared in his room – scary, transparent – like he'd touch her and she'd be gone.

"Spike," she mumbles. Her voice is rough, like she hasn't used it in a very long time.

"Lynda?"

She looks at the ceiling blankly, "I don't know if I want to go back."

His eyes widen, "Can you repeat that? I think I must be hearing wrong. Because if I heard what I think I heard, I think Hell froze over."

She turns to him, not really looking – and her eyes, God, they're still so dark – and she says, "Spike, I'm scared."

He gulps – doesn't touch her, doesn't speak.

"If you tell anyone this, I will personally dig your grave."

But her threat falls short and gives way to silence.

Neither of them quite process the thought that Lynda would be able to live without the _Daily Gazette_. That life would go on after – because in the long run, everyone knew that only Lynda could do the job. The Junior Gazette would die without Lynda; Lynda would die without the Junior Gazette.

Spike wonders if she is a hallucination or if she is the real thing.

"Spike," Lynda says softly, head already falling to the pillow case, "Let's sleep again, okay? I just want to sleep."

Spike lies next to her and silently prays that when he wakes up, she will be there.

/

_11:45 PM_

Her hair is splayed on the pillow case, covered in ash.

He gets close enough to whisper in her ear, "You can go, if you want to. I'm not going to keep you here if you don't want to be here, Lynda."

Her shoulders start to shake. He didn't even know she was awake at all.

"Spike," Lynda cries, soaking the bed with her foreign tears, "I don't want to leave you. Not ever. Not for a second."

Spike is afraid to touch her.

"Lynda," he says. And then again, stronger this time, "Lynda."

Lynda looks at the clock and shudders, "Tell me a story, Spike. Fast. Tell me a story."

_11:51 PM_

"Once, there was a girl named Lynda Day," he starts.

"Not her," Lynda says, still shaking. "I don't want to hear about her."

"She's the only story I got," Spike says. "She's the only one that matters."

Lynda turns to face Spike. Her eyes are dark and scared. Her mouth is quivering.

"I don't like Lynda Day," she says. "I don't like Lynda Day one bit."

"Well, I do," Spike says. "I like Lynda Day. I like her a lot." And then, very quietly, he says,"I want Lynda Day to stay forever."

Lynda reaches out to touch Spike hesitantly, eyes fixed on her hand. When she finally touches him, she is tangible. Her eyes meet his, and they are dark, but the ash is falling out of her hair.

"Okay," she says softly. "She'll stay."

_12:00 AM_

And then, as an afterthought, she says, "Besides, you could never get rid of me."


End file.
